The landlady's daughter (and 20 nostalgic earworms)
Growing up in a pub wasn't the idyllic childhood that many people might think, but it did ignite a lifelong passion for music.
It all started in the living room of my dad's terraced house in the faded 80s. We spent Sunday afternoons flicking through his vast vinyl record collection, marvelling at album covers and listening to avant-garde musicians like Roxy Music.
His album hoard became part of the soundtrack of my childhood, including Fleetwood Mac, Bobby Vee, The Shadows, and Elvis.
Weekends with my dad were also spent watching Elvis and Cliff Richard movies and marvelling at how wonderful life was while my dad drank beer from a mug, so I didn’t clock there was a problem, quite literally, brewing.
As I got older, music became a way to soothe my teenage angst, and I would listen to Smashing Pumpkins, Pearl Jam, and other favourites that reminded me of that time. For days, the same opening chord from one song would play in my head — Under the Bridge and the solemn bass of If You Want Me to Stay.
In 1994, I started working at a local record shop, where I polished CD covers with a yellow duster, unboxed new album deliveries, and organised singles by their chart position. I used my staff discount to buy favourites like Pearl Jam and Smashing Pumpkins, which still transport me back to that time.
Sips of beer and drags on fags
My childhood took place above the pub, where my mum spent 90% of her time pint-pulling and chatting with the customers. While waiting upstairs, I'd listen to the drunken singing, slurred altercations, and sometimes strangers mistaking the door to our accommodation for the toilets.
The divide between my upstairs childhood and the life beyond the separating door was thin, with gusts of spilt beer, smoke, and half-heard conversations wafting up the stairs.
It wasn’t the dream my friends and strangers believed living above a pub should be. The door to the cellar was mostly locked; every bottle of spirit accounted for, even the crisps and peanuts got a regular headcount.
As a bonus prize, the pub's constant companion, the jukebox, and live bands on Thursday and Saturday nights introduced me to various genres and styles that influenced my music choices. My music preference changed as we moved from pub to pub, with each one offering a unique musical experience. In the late 1980s, the sound system at The Fir Tree pub in Stockport to the early 80s soft rock and pop of The King's Head - a rough and tumble pub on the outskirts of Manchester.
Silence didn’t exist when I was a kid. That’s hard to imagine if you grew up in a normal home. For me, music, chatter, smashing glasses (followed by a cheer), and the jukebox's dull bass permeated through the floorboards' thick varnish and into my bedroom during my waking hours. My bedroom was often gently fogged with cigarette smoke that had drifted upstairs from the pub. Sleeping was often difficult.
90s indie and rock
Then to the 90s indie and rock of The Barley Mow - a beautiful black and white Tudor pub in the centre of Warrington, 22 miles from my childhood city of Manchester.
My musical tastes eventually settled on 90s indie and rock, where I began compiling my life's soundtrack. Red Hot Chili Peppers, Rage Against the Machine, Mr Bungle, Stone Temple Pilots, Pearl Jam, Nirvana, Prince, Nine Inch Nails, Faith No More, and Radiohead, accompanied me on my laborious train commute to school, college and, later, work.
Music was in the middle of an identity crisis when Britpop created a humungous genre shift.
Britpop was a mid-1990s British-based music culture movement that emphasised Britishness. It produced brighter, catchier alternative rock, partly in reaction to the popularity of the darker lyrical themes of the US-led grunge music and to the UK's own shoegaze music scene.
Source: Wikipedia
On sharp, sunny days, I waited on train platforms, clutching my copy of The Face or NME/Melody Maker, with my headphones playing the music that defined my life. Despite the challenges of growing up above a pub, my passion for music was ignited, and it continues to inspire me to this day.
I’d dabbled with Ozric Tentacles and became obsessed — briefly — with Pink Floyd, and The Doors sometime between the ages of 14 and 15. This was when the magic of mushrooms was first unfurled and required a suitably psychedelic soundtrack to light the way.
A combined love of music
In the cocooned community of the pub, our most pressing concern was the tracklisting on the sound system. The jukebox setlist at The Barley was a thing of beauty, its flow of tracks and albums carefully curated over the years. It contained vital artists from The Rolling Stones, The Small Faces and The Who to Danni Minogue (!), Pearl Jam, Red Hot Chili Peppers, REM, The Smiths, and Christmas compilations in waiting. The culmination of hugely successful and little-known bands was curated from our collective love for music.
I spent countless hours in the company of these strangers, who effectively became part of my extended family. The tracks they chose on the jukebox created an atmosphere of comfort and familiarity, and the memories they evoke are still vivid today, triggered by just a drum loop or bass riff.
As I grew older, I became more involved in pub life. At 17, I was given the job of glass collector, a not-so-glamorous position, but it allowed me to finally be part of the world that I had only heard from behind the door of my home upstairs.
I became part of the well-trampled pub-to-club circuit that included The Barley Mow (or 'home' as I called it!) for the first part of the evening, then on to Legends, The Carlton Club, The World, or Scruffs indie night for the remainder, where my friend was the DJ (Indie Gregg - see his Spotify tracklist below).
The fashion choices of Generation X were eclectic and varied, with each subculture having its distinct style. The slam-dancing psycho-billies were known for their baggy combat trousers, shiny quiffs, and squeaky leather jackets. Their oversized t-shirts and chequered shirts flapped in the air to grunge choons, while their knee-length wallet chains swung dangerously.
In the other corner, the rock/hip-hop collectives were identified by their enormous Troop trainers and skater-chic. They nodded their heads to the likes of Megadeth and Beastie Boys in tandem, sporting a blend of rock and hip-hop apparel. Despite the differences, everyone at the pub was united by their love of music and the sense of belonging that came with it.
It wasn’t all smiles and good times. Occasionally, a gaggle of townies (today’s ‘chavs’) would accidentally wander into the club, become confused, upset the equilibrium, and fights would break out. There were the nights when you could feel the thick potential of drunken irritation in the air - when it seemed everyone had suffered from a bad week and were dead set on a fight to discharge the frustration.
Friendships glued together with beer and cigs.
We'd drink disturbing quantities/combinations of Newcastle Brown, Budweiser, Hooch and Smirnoff Ice, and cider and black — not to mention the dusty bottles of peach wine and Elephant beer (remember that stuff?) I'd managed to smuggle out of the pub cellar.
Parachuting amphetamine
On the darker side of the club, punters parachuted amphetamines behind broken toilet doors, which led to burly bouncers bouncing them down the stairs and out of the club.
I can smell the yeasty spillages across the varnish of the bar, the tangy brass of the beer pumps, the sponge of the red velvet stools, the sticky pull of the wooden floor and the cloying fug of rolled cigarettes. I can hear the shouts of orders over the opening chords of the Manics, Nirvana, and The Smiths.
There is no shortage of songs from that time, but after careful consideration, I have narrowed the selection to twenty. These songs represent the essence of that era and can transport me back to those days in a heartbeat.
It was a time in our lives when we never wanted the night to end, and the memories we made were forever etched in our minds.
Despite spending over a decade in their company, I never learned the names of many of the other punters. We were simply members of the same tribe, united by our love of music and shared experiences. It was enough to forge a deep bond that transcended time and space and one that I will always cherish.
And this is what it sounds like...
In no particular order, these belong on my 90s soundtrack. Not especially loved or even liked by me, but connected to that specific time.
1. Nine Inch Nails - Head like a hole.
2. Happy Mondays - Kinky afro.
3. The Cure - Friday I'm in love.
4. Beck - Loser.
5. New Radicals - You get what you give.
6. Suede - Beautiful ones.
7. Pearl Jam - Alive.
8. Red Hot Chili Peppers - Give it away now.
9. The Smiths - There is a light that never goes out.
10. Blind Melon - No rain.
11. The Stone Roses - I am the resurrection.
12. REM - Everybody hurts.
13. B52s - Loveshack.
14. Rage Against the Machine - Killing in the name.
15. Faith No More - Epic.
16. Nirvana - Smells like teen spirit.
17. Soundgarden - Spoonman.
18. Placebo - Nancy Boy.
19. Radiohead - Creep.
20. The Sisters of Mercy - Temple of love.
No music no life
This was superb, Nat!
So insightful, both culturally (in a wider sense of the word) and individually to you. The fact that you lived in more than 20 pubs between the ages of 4 and 19 is astonishing in itself. I will check out the playlists you have shared here and the songs that I am unfamiliar with.
One thing I have been meaning to do, alongside my writing, is discover new music (by new I do not necessarily mean 'contemporary'; new to me). I have, quite literally, failed at it so far and perhaps this is the nudge that I need! :)
Thank you for this very informative and evocative entry (your writing is splendid!).